


Harmony Parking Lot

by DevilishKurumi



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Gen, M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-20
Updated: 2014-11-20
Packaged: 2018-02-26 08:21:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2644856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevilishKurumi/pseuds/DevilishKurumi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the early days of their success, a couple of up and coming superstars get drunk and act like legitimate teenage nerds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Harmony Parking Lot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sess/gifts).



> i fully 100% dedicate this fic to sessklok over on tumblr. thanks to them, i'm starting to fall a little in love with murderface too :>

            They leave the bar three sheets to the wind and laughing. Someone shouts, "I'm calling the police," and Nathan barely makes it over a pothole in the cement, gasping like somebody just told him a terrible joke. Maybe that's what that is, because Pickles thinks it's pretty fucking funny himself. It's cold as shit and Pickles doesn't have nearly enough layers for it, but he's got alcohol burning in his bloodstream and that's always been enough for him. Besides, there's always that dumb gay shit about his friends' laughter making everything warmer. But, you know, fuck that, because laughter doesn't exactly heat the house.

            He's fine, anyway. He's more interested in watching Murderface manhandle his jacket back over his arms, throwing them in the air as he shouts, "What a buncha dumb fuckin' _acsholes_!" all triumphantly.

            Nathan spots a tree and says, "Hold on, gotta piss." Pickles watches him lumber off into the dark parking lot of... whatever this is. The library, he thinks. He hasn't been around this area long enough to know better, and they're not going to be here for much longer anyway, so who cares?

            "Man," Murderface slurs, somewhere to his left, "Aren't you cold?"

            "Fuck no," Pickles laughs, wandering into the empty parking lot, Murderface following behind with his hands in his pockets. Pickles digs out his flask and slurps down more whiskey, then lets Murderface take a couple swigs himself, walking backwards for a few steps just to watch him.

            "Hope yer not takin' what they said in there personally or nothin'," he adds, because they're drunk, and he can be as concerned as he fucking _wants_ when he's drunk.

            Murderface scrubs the back of his hand across the fuzz growing on his upper lip. Pickles isn't surprised about the mustache - his face is getting fatter and he needs _something_ to hide his baby face. "Fuck them," he says. "He fuckin' schtarted it, right?"

            "Yeah. Fuck him."

            They wind up collapsing on the steps of the library, because Pickles is pretty sure he _can't_ stand any more. He would love a cigarette right now.

            Murderface pats his belly and sighs. Like the rest of him, his gut is starting to show some fat, now that he's actually getting fed like a normal fucking person instead of losing his appetite for three days before binging on takeout and starting all over again. He doesn't look mad about it, but Pickles can tell he isn't exactly _happy_ with it, either.   "Weren't fuckin' wrong about thisch, though," he gripes, either resigned or completely ambivalent. It's hard to tell.

            "Dude, you've been, like, seriously underweight since we _met_ ya." He sees Nathan coming back from the dark trees near the back of the lot, zipping up his fly, and calls over to him. "Ey, Nate! Murderface needed ta pack on some pounds, right?"

            Nathan looks dazed as he walks over, but that's probably because he's smoking the fattest blunt Pickles has seen since... what, '86? He's not sure. It's amazing. "Some guy just _gave_ this to me at our last show," he says, showing it off like it's a cool rock he picked up at the beach or something. Pickles forgets that he and Skwisgaar are the only ones who have ever _been_ in a position like this before, but the reminders are always, like, _Precious Moments_ precious. "Oh, and, uhhhh... yeah. You looked kind of like an anorexic chick for a while there."

            "I _know_ I'm gonna overdo it," Murderface mutters.

            "You could work out," Nathan replies, plopping down. Murderface wrinkles his nose in disgust at the _idea_ of exercise, and Pickles studies it just long enough to mimic it. _Fuck_ exercising.

            Nathan rolls his eyes and scrubs his hand through his hair. "Or not, whatever. Lazy bastards... Get fat, who fucking cares. We're Dethklok."

            "Guesch so." Murderface sighs, sounding content. Pickles knows him well enough to know he's not being serious when he adds with a chuckle, "Guesch you can't be ugly without bein' fat anyway, right?"

            "I dunno," Pickles drawls, reaching out for the blunt Nathan is completely ignoring in favor of staring at the dark parking lot. "Meth is one hell of a drug, dude. You get skinny _and_ ugly, real quick. 'Sides." He takes a long, shoulder-straightening hit and holds up a finger while he counts to ten. As he exhales, he adds, "Yer not that fuckin' ugly. Right, Nate? Murderface ain't that ugly."

            Nathan has tuned out; Murderface makes some faces at him, but he doesn't even look like he's on this _planet_. "Hamschter wheelsch muscht be working overtime," Murderface says, sitting back.

            "Well, either fuckin' way, I'm still right."

            Murderface laughs; it's a good sound. He's got a good laugh, when he's not being a sarcastic _dickhole_ about it. Pickles takes another hit before passing the blunt to him. He always coughs like a motherfucker, but Pickles can tell it calms him down so he tries to at least share a bowl with him every once in a while. He watches while Murderface chokes on smoke for seconds at a time before coughing it out, nodding whenever he looks over for reassurance that he's not fucking up.

            "Yeah?" Murderface chuckles, once he's stopped coughing and passed the blunt back, "Tell that to thosche fucking bitchesch at the bar."

            "If I could fuckin' stand, I _would_."

            "I'll do it," Nathan cuts in, suddenly starting to stand. Murderface and Pickles fall over each other to pull him back down.

            "No, _no_ ," Pickles laughs. "Dude, no, don't-"

            Nathan huffs, sits, and pulls the blunt from Pickles' hand. "Well, it's fucking - uhhh, it's fucking stupid to put people down, for... how they look, and stuff. ...In person. Unless they piss you off, I guess. But _yeah_! Those chicks were stupid."

            "See?" Pickles says.

            " _You two_ are schtupid," Murderface replies, all fondly and shit. Pickles can see in his expression that he's having a feelings attack, but he's too drunk to hide it. It's really cute, like when an angry dog finally lets you rub his belly.

            " _Hey_ ," Nathan growls, "There's nothing stupid about encouraging body positivity, asshole!"

            " _Whatever_."

            "He's tryin' ta be sweet, Nate, don't stunt his emotional development."

            "What!" Murderface sound almost sincerely irritated, but he's too flustered and red in the face to not look like a dirty fucking liar when he says, " _I'm_ not being schweet, that'sch _gay_ \- _you're_ the one being schweet, gay aschole!"

            Nathan's sitting there, staring at the parking lot, laughing to himself. He always thinks its funny when Murderface acts like a callous dickhead. Shit, most of them do - except Toki, but he's new. He'll find the humor in it eventually. Probably.

            "Aw, what, ya don't want my gay ass bein' sweet on you?" Pickles asks, grinning wide at his stupid, fattening bassist, who's trying really hard to look like a stone cold motherfucker and failing.

            "What! _No_!"

            Pickles knows he's got plenty of room before Murderface gets actually grossed out, so he doesn't think twice about leaning until he's draped over Murderface's shoulders. "Aw, c'mon," he cooes, "Don't be like that, baby!"

            "Get the fuck offa me!"

            Nathan chuckles and says, "Haha, why don't you fucking make out with him, you gay ass motherfucker."

            From the way Murderface squirms under him, Pickles bets that'd be pushing the line. _But_ , Nathan is egging him on like a huge asshole of a friend, and he's drunk, _and_... well, you know. He hadn't exactly been lying when he said Murderface wasn't _bad_ looking.

            So, he grabs Murderface by the chin and, laughing, plants a big fat kiss on his mouth.

            Nathan stops laughing abruptly and Pickles can suddenly hears crickets chirping. He's pretty sure he just felt Murderface's pulse leap in his fucking _lips_ , which is crazy, because Murderface is always talking about how he's got thick, calloused skin all over his face. He opens his eyes and Murderface's eyes are locked on his, like a deer a split second before the truck hits.

            Pickles pulls away with a wet pop and licks his lips. "Sorry, dude, I drooled all over ya."

            Nathan starts laughing again, shaking his head and shoving Pickles' shoulder while Murderface continues to stare at him. His face is red and his jaw's going pretty slack. "What the fuck," he finally says.

            "Told ya, you're not that bad lookin', dude," Pickles says. "An' never try ta gay chicken _me_ , buddy, 'cos I am _in it_ ta _win it_."

            "He's world champion of taking that shit too far," Nathan adds.

            "Damn fuckin' right, I am!"

            Maybe that had been too much, because Murderface is just... blank faced. Nathan eventually stands up, stubbing the mostly unsmoked joint out on his boot before tucking it behind his ear. "We better go," he says to them, looking across the lot like some kind of medieval king. Not for the first time, Pickles is struck by his lead singer's sheer imposingness. "Skwisgaar's gonna be pissed if we don't take Toki off his hands."

            "Yeah," he says. He waits until Nathan's off the steps before standing himself, stretching his behind him until his back pops. Before he can move, Murderface staggers down to the step in front of him, planting his feet and staring. They're pretty much eye-to-eye. It's kind of weird.

            "You're a fucking liar," he says, all huffed up like a pissed off cat.

            Pickles grins. "Yeah? What'd I lie about?"

            The grin gets wiped off his face as Murderface pulls off his jacket and shoves it towards him. "You're freezing your schtupid, schtoner fucking asch off."

            "Uh."

            "Juscht fucking take it."

            Pickles doesn't know what to do. Murderface has never once been, like, _chivalrous_ , or anything. This is fucking _weird_ , and he can't shake the feeling as he slowly pulls the jacket on. It hangs off him, just a size too big, and now it's _his_ turn to stare like roadkill in the making.

            "Schtupid, gay mother of all dickholesch," Murderface is muttering, stomping down the stairs to catch up to Nathan. Pickles stands there for a second or two longer, listening to the crickets and staring after two of the most important people in his life now, then staggers after them with a grin back on his face.


End file.
